Do You Fear Death
by Secretly-A-Fangirl
Summary: "James Norrington, do you fear death?" No, he didn't fear death, not anymore.


James Norrington gazes past Bootstrap Bill, spotting a faint, white smudge that seemed to stay just far enough away that he couldn't make it out properly. Slowly the smudge begins to move forward, becoming clearer each second he drew closer to death. _James_, a faint voice whispers; a voice as familiar as his own, _Do you remember?_

What was it he was supposed to remember? It was obviously something important; nagging at him for forgetting in the first place. _We promised each other_. The smudge is now an outline of a person—a woman judging by her curves.

Long dark hair that framed a white face—so much white. He looks around him slowly at the pirates that now surround him; feeling as if he'd been drugged. _Jamie_. She laughs, the sound wrapping around him, relaxing and cheering him. He'd heard it before, but couldn't yet identify it. He tried to, though, God knows he tried.

The form comes closer, revealing a dress that was such a bright white it hurt his eyes to stare for too long. He'd never seen the color like that before, so pure and untainted. _Think you're up for a game of chess later_?

He shivers, still feeling the sharp pain emanating from his wound, but he also notices that it's beginning to go away—no, not go away, it was beginning to numb; _he _was beginning to go numb. He reveled in this loss of feeling, his heart no longer aching for Elizabeth Swann's love. The mystery woman laughs again and James was barely able to make out her smile. _Remember me, James._

Davy Jones is standing in front of him now, glaring down at him with triumph in his eyes, but he's not the one that's triumphed today. The feeling that's been nagging at James since he first heard the voice explodes into flashbacks of his life when he was younger—before he became fixated on Elizabeth. _Yes, Jamie, you can do this._

**He was young, just barely seven, and at his birthday party—it's crowded, but he was comfortable. He knew most, if not all, of the people surrounding him; in fact, he helped his mother create the guest list. "Hello." He turns at the voice, finding a girl a little younger than himself. **Time skips forward.

**James is sitting at a table, fingers of his fight hand wrapped around a knife while the fingers of his left were wrapped around his fork. It was dinner time and he knew he must be on his best behavior because his father was having guests over; some Lord and his younger sister. There, sitting across from him in a pale green dress is the girl from his party. She smiles shyly at him, then lowers her eyes from his. **The years seem to pass by in blurs.

**Now he's nineteen, tugging on one of his friend's curls, laughing as she playfully smacks his shoulder. He stares into her stormy blue eyes and suddenly feels the need to kiss her, to just crush her body to his and see how she'd react. But he doesn't, because her older brother comes outside to watch them—Beckett's eyes never straying from the pair. **He missed when things were so easy.

**At twenty-two James stares down into his father's grave at the casket, ignoring the rain as it comes down in sheets. He felt relief that his father could no longer beat him so viciously and then felt guilt for feeling relief. His fiancé walks up to him, gently laying her hand on his arm. They were the only ones left in the cemetery. He pushes her away, making her stumble and fall to the muddy ground. **That was the worst decision of his life.

**He didn't see her again for three years, but when he did she was in a casket of her own; died of strangulation. She still looked beautiful, dressed in a white gown he'd never seen before. Her brother confronts him then, punching him harder than he thought Cutler Beckett was capable. But he deserved it, if he had just married her like he had promised none of this would have happened. They made another promise too; that if one died, they'd wait for the other to join them.**

And now James is back in the present, looking up at Davy Jones, then past him at the woman standing so close, her stormy blue eyes shining and a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. James Norrington, do you fear death?" She reaches out her hand for him to take and rise to his feet.

No, he didn't fear death, not anymore.


End file.
